Once Written
by whiterosenova
Summary: AU: Suburbia. Castiel is a writer, living temporarily in Lawrence to write a novel from a criminals POV. His neighbor, Dean, seems to be the perfect person to base the killer on, but he regrets it when he immerses himself too far into his work. What does he do when parts of his story begin to happen in reality? Does he change the course of his book or go along for the ride?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello everyone, this is my first Supernatural Fanfiction (I usually write Twilight). The idea of the story was nagging at me, and I'm a fan of the 'Destiel' stories, so I figured why not. Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. But I do own the story.**

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Watching the rain fall was a past time that he'd never been able to get over. Growing up in Florida, he was used to hurricane seasons. Sitting in his living room staring out into the yard as the rain drops would pound onto the asphalt was something that always seemed to soothe him. The black rain clouds would come rolling in, putting his soul into an almost eerie calm. It didn't matter if the rain would, at times, only last ten minutes. Just the possibility of the water falling from the sky would often make his day.

At that very moment though, he glared upwards at the sun that daunted him. His work had lead him far from Florida, and was forcing him to take up residence in Kansas for the next six months.

"Castiel!" He flinched at the voice that over pronounced his name, turning away from the bright sky and let his eyes land on his real estate agent.

"Yes, Anna?" He tried his hardest to keep his voice level, not letting any annoyance seep through. He must have succeeded because the woman's eyes didn't dull for a moment, and her overly peppy step didn't falter.

"I think everything is all set up, and you said your movers were coming in the morning?" Castiel nodded. She just rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the small house behind her. His own eyebrows rose in surprise, shocked that this near stranger felt comfortable enough around him to pull off such a childish behavior.

"Still don't see why you're moving so much of your stuff in here for just a few months, the place is fully furnished," she said under her breath. He didn't even bother calling her out on what she said; moving some of his own belongings into the rancher wasn't her business, and he didn't have to explain himself to her.

"Yes, well, it seems you're done here," Castiel bit out with a fake smile on his face. He reached out and snatched the keys out of her hand and waited until she was looking directly at him to let his smile fall and a stoic expression come through. With that, he turned away from her and walked towards the open garage, eyeing his car that was already inside.

Normally Castiel wasn't as into cars as a large percent of the male population was. His father raised him to be able to change a tire, and do a tune up. Over the years he developed the ability to tell when an alternator needed changing, or if it was the battery. Beyond that, he had been damn near useless. But about five years back his eyes landed on a steel blue 1965 Ford Mustang Fastback, just sitting on the side of the road with an awful 'For Sale' sign in the window. Castiel didn't even barter on the price; he paid the man in cash and ripped up the ugly red sign. Since then he bought books upon books learning how to take care of his beautiful car. He rarely took it to anyone to let them do work on her- if he didn't know how to fix her, then he would try his hardest to learn via words on pages. Or hell, even the internet.

Castiel climbed the few steps that lead from the garage to the house, pressing the button to close the large door. He swore he could almost hear the frustration coming from his real estate agent, but he didn't care. From the moment he met her, he wanted to deal with someone else. He even called the main office of the real estate company and asked the receptionist if he could be transferred to a different person. Alas, the kind woman on the phone turned him down and told him that Anna was the only person available. It made him want to deal with an entirely different company, but in the small town of Lawrence there weren't exactly a plethora of places to choose from. Especially ones who dealt with temporary sublets.

Kicking the door shut, Castiel let his eyes wander around the place he would call home for the next six months. Before him was a decent sized living room, big enough for an overstuffed couch and a recliner chair as well as a large television. To his right was the modest sized kitchen, with just enough counter space to house a few different appliances. Castiel let his feet bring him forward, beyond the kitchen and into the den. This would be his office. The one room that he saw himself spend the most time in while he wrote. The room was bare, and he was completely fine with this. When the moving truck came, it would bring with it his own desk. It was more of a superstition to him, making sure he wrote at that particular desk whenever he added to his work.

Beyond the den were the bedrooms, only two of them. The master bedroom had a king sized bed, and a large armoire and closet. Another television hung on the wall, and Castiel wasn't sure if that was even necessary. He couldn't remember the last time he watched TV in bed. The second bedroom would be for if and when any family came to visit. The smaller room had a full sized bed, and Castiel probably wouldn't ever enter the room unless someone decided to drop in.

Castiel sighed, leaning against the wall in his bedroom. His head felt… full, if that was a way to describe it. So much had happened in the past month, and the move to Kansas was not something he particularly wanted. But words from his editor ran through his mind, and the persuasive voice that had coerced him into living in the town that his next book would take place in ran through his head again. He sighed again, rubbing his temples. Was isolation really the way to go? Couldn't he have just done all of this from the sanctity of his own fucking home in Florida?

_No, Castiel. You need to be away from what you know, and put yourself in the unknown. Create a whole new way of thinking._

His editor had pushed him once he found out what his next book was about. Castiel had a habit of picking a random city in the United States, one that he had never been to, and learning everything there was to know about it. Research upon research, just so he could write his fictional books from a view point that could be believable. But according to his editor, his books lacked… _something_. So when Castiel did the whole 'closing his eyes and randomly picking' habit, and his pointer finger landed on Lawrence, Kansas, days later he found himself looking online at different houses he could rent.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Castiel wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning against the wall. His eyes were trained to the large bay window that took up nearly an entire wall of the bedroom. It faced the street, giving him a great view of the street. It was a cookie cutter neighborhood, probably only four or five different structures replicated throughout the entire development. Across the street was an almost exact version of Castiel's home, except instead of the tan color he had, this one was a lemon yellow. It was very bright and cheerful. He immediately winced at it and let his eyes wander to the home to the left of it.

It was a small two story home, the typical white picket fence. Castiel never understood those two foot tall white fences. They never kept anything in or out, and he could easily just step over it, counting it out as a security device. Were they for aesthetic purposes only? The house was a pale grey in color, two bay windows in the front, and a two car garage.

As he was admiring the size of the garage, a rumble was heard in the air. Castiel looked up and down the part of street he could see from where he was, but saw nothing. The rumble grew louder, until finally the source graced him with its presence.

"Nice," Castiel muttered to himself. Pulling into the driveway of the house he had been critiquing in his mind was a Chevy Impala. The black paint job had a shine to it and Castiel could tell from a distance that it had been washed and waxed recently. The chrome rims sparkled, and he started picturing the same wheels on his own car. He'd have to ask his neighbor what kind they were.

Castiel continued to watch the car as it pulled into the now open garage. Break lights illuminated the concrete under the car and the rumbling eventually cut away. The person within didn't move for a while and Castiel found himself intrigued. Pushing off of the bedroom wall, he stepped closer to the window, peeking out and watching the open garage. It took a bit, but eventually the door to the Impala opened and a black work boot appeared. A tall man unfolded himself from the vehicle, and Castiel let his eyes roam upwards as the body appeared. Dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered what he could only explain to be an attractive man.

Castiel watched as the man with the short brown hair slammed his car door shut and stood stock-still.

"Hmm," Castiel hummed to himself. The man was angry, his tanned face contorted in irritation, and he was clearly yelling at someone on the cell phone that was pressed against his ear. There was no possible way that Castiel could hear what the man was saying, but he found himself captivated regardless. The man lifted his right hand and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends roughly. He went back to being motionless, his eyes closed tight. After another moment the phone was ripped away from his ear and hurled at the far wall of the garage. From Castiel's hiding spot he could see the black pieces of plastic flying through the air on impact. The man turned his back to the street and stomped his way to his own home, slamming his fist on the button to close the garage.

As the garage door lowered, Castiel let out a small laugh. There was one thing for sure, he thought. It seemed that in this cookie cutter suburban neighborhood, not everything was happy and perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I just put up the first chapter yesterday, but the second one was written and I'm very eager. I know exactly where the story is headed, but I would love reviews! D/C: I don't own Supernatural, but I own this story.**

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It was nine o'clock in the morning when the doorbell rang, alerting Castiel to the arrival of the moving truck. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before, so when the sun broke on the horizon he took that as his cue to give up on trying to close his eyes and got ready for his day instead.

Castiel stood on the street, watching as two men opened the back of a decent sized box truck. His eyes raked the interior, already doing inventory on the things that he had sent. At least a dozen boxes were there, as well as his desk and exercise equipment. He could see the portable wardrobe boxes stacked in the corner, and he counted them to see if they were all there as well.

The two men, who barely spoke besides a few words of greeting, lowered the ramp of the truck and began to unearth the boxes within.

"You can just put those in the living room," Castiel told them in an even tone. "I'll take care of them from there." The men nodded and headed into the house. Castiel signed, bending his neck back and closing his eyes. He could already feel the sunshine seeping into his skin, and as much as he knew that being outdoors was good for him, he really just wanted to hole himself up in the house and get his job done.

The sound of footsteps were heard coming down the driveway, and Castiel opened his eyes to continue watching the men work. Any other time in his life he might find it awkward to watch other people move his belongings, but at that point he just didn't care anymore. Within ten minutes all the boxes were inside and they were moving his desk now.

"Gentlemen," Castiel spoke up. The two men turned towards him with bored expressions. "Please be careful with that." One guy rolled his eyes and the other just nodded. _Again with the eye rolling, _Castiel thought. It annoyed him when people out of their teenage years resulted to such childish acts—and what bothered him more was that this was the second person in twenty-four hours that had done this gesture towards him. He cracked his neck and set his face in a firm expression.

"Let's put it this way," Castiel bit out. "The condition of that desk upon entrance to my home is the deciding factor on how much you're tipped. Got it?" Both men glanced at one another before nodding. The men worked carefully when lifting the wooden desk, lowering it down the ramp slowly. They walked it up the driveway, Castiel following them the entire time. He didn't allow them to just set it in the living room though. He showed them exactly where he wanted it- in the den under the window. He would be able to sit at the desk, looking outside to get inspiration if necessary, or close the curtains if he wanted darkness. He had black out curtains in one of those boxes for just that reason.

The remainder of Castiel's belongings were brought into the house soon after that, and he handed each man a fifty dollar bill.

"Thank you for your help," he said to them. The men both glanced at the bills in their hands and their eyes widened slightly.

"Have a good day, sir," one of them spoke. They quickly turned and headed back to the truck, and were gone in seconds. Castiel didn't even care that they had departed so abruptly; he was alone at last.

The house was nearly silent, the sound of the central air providing the small amount of background noise that he wanted in life. He sighed, looking around at the boxes that he had directed to be left in the living room. Now was a good a time as any to unpack; the last thing he wanted was to leave his belongings in boxes for the duration of his stay.

Morning quickly became afternoon when Castiel finished unpacking the last box and brought the broken down cardboard into the garage for storage. The exercise equipment (treadmill, weights, and a Bowflex) were all in his bedroom, the treadmill directly in front of the window. He allowed his fingers to glide over the control panel once he had plugged it in, itching to run for at least a few minutes, but he talked himself out of it quickly. He needed to go to the store and stock up on kitchen supplies.

The garage door opened, and Castiel clipped the remote for the garage onto the passenger side visor. He glanced around for a moment, eyeing the neighbors that were out and about, conversing with one another on their lives. He wasn't necessarily a loner, but the fact that he was coerced into moving to a neighborhood that he didn't know, bothered him greatly.

Castiel lived his life in Florida as a recluse, spending his time putting his imagination on paper. His editor, Zachariah Thomas, told him time and time again that he was living precariously through those books he produced, instead of going out and doing things himself. He'd always disagreed with him, but being out of his comfort zone quickly proved the man to be right. The neighbors were smiling, kids were playing, and all Castiel wanted to do was get in his car and drive back to his condo in Merritt Island. Where there weren't any kids and the neighbors didn't bother him.

He closed his door firmly and cranked the engine, smiling at the sound. Backing up, he made his way down the driveway before throwing it into 'drive'. He glanced to the left and noticed a blonde haired woman who stood on the sidewalk, huddled with two other women. Her brown eyes met his blue ones and she smiled, lifting her hand to wave. Castiel wasn't sure if he should ignore the gesture, and normally he would have, but he didn't want any trouble with these people. Forgoing the smile, he lifted his hand in a half-assed salute and stepped on the gas.

The trip to the store turned out to be an all afternoon excursion. Even though it as the middle of the week, the isles of the local market were packed with people who didn't understand the meaning of 'personal space'. Castiel found himself having to go up and down each isle, looking for the things he wanted. A new store usually required this much effort, he thought to himself, but he wished he had chosen a more sensible hour to do this. Like midnight.

Once his cart was filled to the brim with food, personal products, and even a few magazines from the rack, Castiel pushed his cart to a checkout line, sighing to himself once again at the length of time he would be here. It didn't take as long as he thought though, and he thanked whatever deity that was looking out for him at that moment. He was moments away from turning around and telling the woman behind him to please step back, because as he loaded his groceries on the belt he could swear the woman was only an inch from him.

Parking in his garage, Castiel sat still for a moment, accepting the silence as a gift. Rolling his neck, he relished in the cracking sounds that filled the interior of the car. Maybe he would have to find a masseur in this town, because the stress was already creating too much tension.

Castiel's cell phone rang, and he glanced at the name on the screen before silencing it. _Zachariah. _He wasn't ready to talk to the man just yet. In other words, he wasn't in the mood to already get the speech of 'how are things going? Did you start the book yet?' Hell, the beginning and ending of a book are the hardest to write, and he knew his editor would want him to send the first chapter or so as soon as possible.

Leaving his safety zone, Castiel eyed the street. The women across the street were no longer standing there, gossiping. The children were no longer playing outside, shrieking in enjoyment. It was silent. Castiel found a smile grace his lips, and he closed his eyes as he leaned against his car. Suddenly, the sound of an engine interrupted his moment of peace, and grew louder and it came closer. Castiel recognized the sound as the Impala from across the street. He didn't bother rushing inside to hide away. No, he was going to stay right where he was and observe the man he had seen last night. Memories of the shattered phone infiltrated Castiel's mind and he smirked to himself, wondering if the pieces were still on that garage floor.

The sleek Impala appeared, driving past Castiel's home and pulling into the driveway across the street. The garage door opened, the car pulling in, and the engine was turned off. There was no hesitation this evening, and the man was out of the car within seconds. He glanced over his shoulder, in the general direction of Castiel, before turning back to his car. It was a double take though, and the man's eyes were now staring across the street at the man he didn't know. Castiel raised a hand in greeting, surprised at himself for acknowledging the stranger. He cursed himself further when the man left the confines of his garage and made his way down the driveway and towards Castiel.

"Hey neighbor," the man's voice called out as he crossed the street. Castiel noted that his voice was slightly rough, as if he had been straining his voice for the past several hours. It didn't match Castiel's own voice though, as he knew that his voice was very low and very gravelly. He mentally shook himself from his inner thoughts- this was not a contest as to whose voices were manlier.

"Hello," Castiel responded. His neighbor stepped in front of him and extended his right hand. Castiel didn't hesitate, and immediately met him in the middle with his own, shaking the man's hand firmly.

"I'm Dean Winchester, welcome to the neighborhood." Dean's smile parted his lips and two rows of straight white teeth were shining back at Castiel. His hair was a light brown color, as he could tell from across the street. But what he found interesting were the color of his eyes. Most people would glance at Mr. Winchester and comment that his eyes were just green. No, not to Castiel. They were a forest green, with flecks of a golden hue along the pupil. The more seconds that went by, Castiel started to make out strips of a dark brown along with that gold color, and maybe even a fleck or two of blue.

"Castiel Novak," he responded, gently letting go of Dean's hand. Dean tucked his car keys into his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his button down plaid shirt tight across his chest.

"Well that's a neat name," Dean commented. Castiel cocked his head slightly and found himself smiling.

"Thank you, it was a birthday present." Dean's eyes widened for the briefest of moments and then threw his head back in peals of laughter. The man's hand came up to smack Castiel on his shoulder.

"You're funny Castiel, very funny," Dean chuckled. "My wife told me that she saw a moving truck over here this morning, but I wasn't sure if I was going to meet you before the weekend. My work schedule is tight so I'm coming and going at weird hours." Castiel nodded and adjusted his feet so his weight distribution changed.

"Yeah, the truck was here this morning, didn't take long to unpack everything." Dean nodded and then gestured towards the house.

"Mr. Sheehan still keep the place furnished? I know he's had a couple tenants over the past few years." Castiel sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, it's furnished, but regardless of how long I'm here for, I wanted some of my own stuff with me." Dean grunted in understanding.

"So, Cas, will you be a permanent fixture in this place or will I be seeing that moving truck sooner rather than later?" Castiel adjusted himself again, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden change in conversation. Dean seemed to be able to hit the nail right on the head, and cut right to the chase.

"I'm a writer," Castiel commented, as if that were an explanation for everything he was about to say. "My next book is taking place in Lawrence, and my editor preferred me to live in the town as I was writing. Give me a different perspective, I suppose." Dean nodded, but then froze. Shit. Green eyes met his and Castiel knew he should have just shut the fuck up.

"Wait a second, _you're _C. Novak?" Dean's question was practically whispered, as if he were telling secrets to the CIA. Castiel berated himself mentally for just sharing his personal information with an absolute stranger. There weren't any rules as to his living here, only deadlines that had to be met. But he didn't want too many people finding out who he was, and he was angry at himself for just laying it all out there.

"Uh…" Castiel stuttered over his words for a second before he just sighed and nodded. "Yes, I'm C. Novak. I don't know why I told you that." Dean stepped back, running a hand through his perfectly combed hair, creating instant chaos on his scalp.

"Dude, I'm a huge fan. Not even joking." Dean shook his head again, refusing to take his eyes off of a clearly uncomfortable Castiel. "I have, literally, all of your books. This is insane." Silence passed between the two of them, and Castiel refused to look away from him. Green eyes meeting blue, and suddenly an understanding passed over Dean's face.

"I won't say anything, I promise," he muttered. A sigh of relief expelled from Castiel, and he could feel his neck muscles relax.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "You know, this is a really awkward conversation to be having with someone I just met." Dean laughed again, and before he knew it, Castiel was chuckling along with him.

"Right?" Dean sighed. "I just came over here to introduce myself to a neighbor, not to some famous guy." Castiel stood straight and stepped forward.

"No, please don't think of me as a 'famous guy'. I'm just here to write my next book, and then I'm gone. It is not my intention to disrupt anyone's lives or really make myself known." Dean waved his hand in the air as if to say 'Ah, don't worry about it.'

"Won't say a word," Dean replied. "It'll be our little secret." Castiel nodded, and glanced over his shoulder when he heard Dean's name being called.

"Ah, that's the lady of the house," Dead laughed. "I have to get going. But don't be a stranger. I'm like ten feet away if you need anyone to show you around town so you have some cool places to put in your book." Castiel found himself nodding, suddenly eager for the companionship this stranger was offering. Dean started jogging his way over to his house, but stopped halfway across the street.

"By the way," he called over, "sweet car." Castiel beamed, patting the hood of his car with gently fingers. Ah, a man who appreciated beauty. Dean disappeared into his house with a final wave, and then Castiel was alone. He sighed and started unloading the bags from his car.

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Castiel was sitting as his desk, laptop open in front of him. Until that moment he hadn't known _exactly_ what his story was going to be about. Sure, he had scenes in his head that played over and over again, and he knew he wanted certain things in the story, and whose point of view he wanted it from. But as for a plot he had been clueless.

Until he spent an hour staring at the street from his bedroom window, running away on his treadmill.

Suburbia, cookie cutter houses hiding secrets under every roof. The woman who waved to him that morning seemed normal on the outside, but could be covering up just about anything.

Like murder.

So Castiel began to type his story. A story about lies, deception, and murder in suburbia….

_Drip… Drip… Drip…_

_The sink faucet was taunting me, its steady rhythm singing a slow song of death and boredom. I inhaled deeply, the smell of mold infiltrating my senses. It took a large amount effort to pull my attention from the small sink, from the drops of brown liquid that fell in a steady pattern._

_Was the sun ever going to come up? The rectangular window above the large freezer reflected the single light bulb that hung from the wooden beams. I wondered slightly if the dark would scare me if I reached one arm up and pulled on the chain, effectively killing the light source. The darkness would surely swallow me._

_I smiled, and my eyes flickered to the freezer once again. The noises had stopped almost thirty minutes ago. A single drop of blood had escaped from the rubber seal, the cold surface stopping it in its tracks half way down the side. I wondered, again, if the liquid was even in motion. Perhaps it was too solid to continue its escape. It was probably the same texture and thickness as rock candy…_

_My smile never faltered. My brown eyes never wavered._

_The motor on the freezer kicked on, chugging to bring the temperature inside down to its desired degree. My smile finally faltered a fraction as my conscious tried to take over, but my anger engulfed it entirely, extinguishing it immediately. My smile was now a scowl, and I glared into the dim light, envisioning the interior of the freezer. It brought an odd sense of pride to know that I had done this. It was me who took initiative. _

_It was me who pulled the trigger._

_It was over. I'd done what I had set out to do. And now all I had to do was wait. _

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Castiel paused, his finger running gently over the 'backspace' button on the keyboard. His eyes found shelter on the street before him, and he found himself watching Dean's home. The man was now sitting outside on his front porch, a beer bottle in his hand and his head lolled back in relaxation. Most likely it was empty at that point, but Castiel wasn't sure the man cared to get up to get another one. Glancing back down at the words he had just typed out, he bit his lip and deleted 'brown' from the eye description. The eyes of the man who sat across the street flashed in his mind, and he made the decision without consciously looking for one. Slowly, he typed out 'green', pressing the save button.

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**A/N: The insert from "Castiel's book" is actually taken out of one of my other stories. His book isn't going to be exactly like my other story or anything, but this part was perfect, so I just reused it. Please let me know if there's interest in the story, so I have motivation to continue!**


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